Dreamer of Dreams
by queer-space-mermaid
Summary: "I am a flower, an art piece, a dream." Three years have passed since the Second Wizarding War, and Luna seeks solace with Dean, Harry and Neville.


**A/N:** Written for Dra for the Gift Giving Extravaganza 2017.

**Warnings:** depression, disassociation, suicidal themes, sex.

**Pairings:** Luna/Dean, Luna/Neville, Luna/Harry

* * *

My breasts are covered in finger painted flowers, petals of blue fanning out from red nipples. Dean's hands are wet as he grips my back and I feel stripes sliding down from my shoulders to my hips. I hold his head and I sing him a rainbow song. We make art.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, as I lean over him, though he cannot see me because his eyes are closed.

"I'm your painting," I reply.

* * *

When I walk into the apartment in the afternoon, the smell of curry greets my nose familiarly. I sit on the kitchen counter and watch the rice boil. Bubbling, steaming. My eyes water.

Neville kisses my cheek and hands me a spoon. I sip it and burn with spice.

"Thank you."

"How was therapy today?" he asks.

"I painted flowers."

"You'll have to show me sometime."

We eat dinner on the couch and listen to the rain.

* * *

His eyes blaze in the light of the fire. The sunset dies to the sound of chirping crickets and rustling branches. I fan the flame and add a handful of sticks. Ron and Hermione head to the trees for more fuel. Harry sits beside me and flicks the mosquitoes off my legs. I rest my head on his shoulder.

"Do you ever have dreams?" he asks, when we are lying in the tent.

"How does a dream have a dream?"

"Do you have nightmares, I mean. About what happened in the war?"

His vague blob curls up to me. His nightmares are hunched in his shoulders and shaking in his breath.

I grab his hand and rest it on my heart. "Can you feel them?"

"I'm not sure…"

I unzip my sleeping bag and take off my shirt. "Come in."

He lays clinging to me as I smudge nightmares from my skin to his like paint.

* * *

All of life floats past like a Muggle movie. I watch like a bird circling overhead. My hands wave and hold and stroke and push. My feet follow other feet and my hair falls over my face.

I want nothing and I feel nothing. I see everything but cannot hear what is in my head. I don't know where I am going.

My small form wanders over rocks and branches. Blood speckles over my bare feet. The air darkens and mists and I step into water. It chills like death up my legs, hips and waist.

Blue creeps over my pale skin, like the flowers Dean paints. Nightmares beat in my chest. I listen to the rush of a river like rain. I am a flower, an art piece, a dream.

I am not real.

* * *

With a shiver, I awaken. I am not wet, but still cold. I am in a coffin, weighed down in pitch black darkness.

But no, these are blankets. I touch my face and find fabric. I peel it off. An eye-mask.

The room is dim, but there are various small sources of light glowing around. Neville is beside me. I shake like a rustling branch and he wakes up.

"Luna," he wraps me in a hug. "You're awake. Do you remember what happened?"

I shake my head, teeth chattering. He frowns with concern and runs his wand over me.

"Hmm. Harry?"

A head bops up over the foot of the bed and Harry rubs his eyes. "Sorry, what?"

"Luna's awake," Neville says. "Can you get her more warming drought?"

Harry grunts and stumbles from the room. I clutch the blankets like a lifesaver, Neville's chin resting on my head. He hums a tune that vibrates through his chest and into mine.

Harry returns and hands Neville a mug. I sit weakly and guide the mug to my lips with my hand placed over Neville's. The liquid rushes down my throat and I cough, gasping for air.

"Hey, hey, it's alright!" Neville rubs my back, and I breathe again.

A weight depresses the mattress near my feet. "We found you in the river, Luna. Why were you there?"

I float over the bed and look down over the wizards. Neville is holding my hand and Harry is rubbing my calf. My hair is messy and wild. I mesh with the shadows in the corners of the ceiling like fresh paint.

"Luna," a gentle voice calls. "Luna, love?"

I hover and wait in the darkness, watching all.

"Darling," the voice persists. A hand rubs my shoulder. "You're here with us. Can you hear me?"

I blink and turn, my cheek scratching on Neville's stubble. "I hear you."

"Good. Stay with me, Luna. Do you know where you are?"

"Bedroom."

"Bedroom where?"

"Our bedroom. Home."

"That's right. Who is here with you?"

"Neville and Harry."

He squeezes my shoulder and nods, hair tickling my forehead. "Good job. And who are you?"

"I'm…" I swallow, feeling my brain try to fly like a bird out of my skull.

"Stay with me, darling."

"I'm…" I exhale, tears prickling hot in my eyes. "Luna."

"That's right, darling. Now Harry and Ron and Hermione were very worried about you when they couldn't find you. Why did you wander off?"

"I don't know," I mutter.

"Do you remember walking away from the campsite?"

I nod slowly, entwining my arms around Neville's bicep, and bite my tongue.

"What were you feeling?"

"Nothing."

"Do you remember walking into the river?"

I squeeze his arm and bury my face into his neck.

"Do you remember?"

I nod.

"And how were you feeling? What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing."

"Luna, you're hurting my arm."

My nails are digging into his skin. I grit my teeth and push him away. "Stop asking me questions!"

"Darling, we're worried about you. We love you."

"Well stop loving me! You're smothering me!"

Neville backs off the bed and holds up his hands. "I'm sorry, I won't ask any more questions tonight. You're tired."

I kick the blankets off my feet and try to heave myself out of bed by gripping onto the bedside table, but Harry puts a hand on my knee.

"Where are you going?"

"The bathroom, and I don't need a fucking babysitter."

I shake him off and stomp out. The walls of the hallway tilt as I storm into the bathroom and slam the door. The porcelain seat is cold. I hug my arms on my knees and disappear into the tiled floor. Sobs bounce off the walls. There is a knocking on the door.

* * *

I wake up to freckles and red hair.

"What are you doing here?" I groan.

Ginny raises her eyebrows. "Good morning to you too."

"Here to babysit me as well?"

"Gosh, you are feisty today! I've got to say, I kind of like it."

I sit up wearily and cross my arms. "Are Harry and Neville still here?"

"No, they've gone out for a bit. I thought I'd keep you company."

"So it's your shift to guard Loony Luna."

Ginny frowns and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. "Why do you say that, Luna? You're my friend. And I love-"

"I know, you love me. They all love me. It doesn't matter."

"What doesn't matter?"

"You know, Ginny! You know."

Ginny shrugs and throws up her hands helplessly. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I don't want to be here! Alright? It's been three years and no amount of painting, or eating or camping or fucking can make me want to wake up every morning to this pointless life."

Ginny stares at me for a moment, eyes bugging, then looks down. "I see."

I chew on my nail, glaring at her. "Just leave me alone."

"I'm not going anywhere."

I roll my eyes.

"Dean visited while you were sleeping."

"Another babysitter."

"Another _boyfriend_, Luna. Look, I know you've found it difficult, since the War…"

I scoff, tearing my cuticle.

"But you're not the only one. We've all been grieving, we've all been hurting. But we need to look out for each other."

She tries to take my hand and I swat her away. "What's the point of it all, Ginny?

"We've just got to – we need," she sighed roughly. "It's going to be hard for a while, but it will get better."

A laugh bursts out from my throat. I shake my head, tears pricking my eyes and my chest hurts. "I tried to ignore it. I focused on Neville and Dean and Harry and how much they love me. But I can't _feel_ it. I can't feel anything. I just want to disappear."

Ginny ignores my pushing hands and wraps me in a hug. She squeezes me like she wants to hold all my broken pieces together. "You can't ignore it, Luna. You've got to confront all of these feelings."

I wipe my face on her shoulder and shake my head.

"Yes, you do. And you need help. A mind healer. Maybe some mood balancing droughts." She rocks me from side to side and I don't fight. "You still love all of us, right?"

"Of course, it's nothing to do with you."

"I know. But I want you to promise you'll go to a mind healer."

"It won't help."

"Promise me anyway."

Her hands are warm on my back, and I lean into her embrace. "Okay."

"Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too."

I am real and it hurts. I wish I were a were a flower, or a painting, or a dream, with no memories, and no torment.

I survived the war and I survive still. Maybe one day I will feel glad about that.

* * *

A/N: Please leave your thoughts in a review. :)


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